Ink
by DestielWolf
Summary: Dean has been suffering from rotten luck, and hints of depression. That changes when a strange visitor reveals himself in Deans dreams, vowing to protect him until his last days. GaurdianAngel!Castiel. Slightly Destiel.


**_Ink _**

_{part 1}_

**Story Originally posted on Tumblr: Username: DarrenWolf**

**Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Castiel**

**Rating: T for slight gore**

**Time Period: Pre- season 5**

* * *

Dean Winchester groaned as he stumbled into his hotel room. He had just gotten back from a solo case that had taken a turn for the worse. He was bruised and battered, and had blood in places he didn't even want to _think_ about.

He and Sam had gotten into it a few days ago, and even though they weren't yelling and throwing punches anymore, tension still rose high in the air.

So Dean had jumped at the chance when a demon case popped up a few towns over. He had told Sam he wanted to do it alone, claiming that he was becoming too reliant on his little brother. But in reality he thought the space would help heal their shaky bond.

Dean regretted that choice as he limped his way to the shower, noting that Sam was snoring a way in his bed.

He peeled off his clothes, wincing as the blood soaked objects stuck disgustingly to his body.

He turned the water on as hot as it would go before stepping into the scalding shower.

Quickly, he grabbed the bar of soap and frantically scrubbed at his body, trying to rid himself of the red stains and copper smell.

He hadn't been able to save the victim.

_She was a young girl, about sixteen or seventeen, and she was pregnant. Dean had watched, helpless and screaming as the demon that possessed her boyfriend plunged its hand into the girls chest and ripped her heart out. He had watched as the life left her eyes, a silent scream frozen on her face. _

Dean pushed the heels of his hands to his eyes, trying to will the stinging tears away.

Eventually he had been able to free himself of the demonic hold, gank the bastard and rush to the girl. But it was too late. She was dead.

If he had just sucked it up and taken Sam with him, or if he had arrived just _five minutes_ before she would be alive. But he hadn't, and she was dead. It was his fault.

Dean didn't try to hold back the sob as it wrecked through his body.

He saved more people than he hurt. That was the idea that kept him going. But lately, things were turning the other way around. How many lives had been lost because of him? Because he was too weak, too slow, or too dumb?

He stayed under the water until it turned too cold to stand. He shut it off and stepped out, towel drying him self off before putting on a pair of shorts.

Dean winced as his stomach hit his bed, the stiff motel mattress doing no good for his bruised ribs.

Even with all the thoughts racing through his head, his body was still exhausted, and it demanded sleep. He pulled the covers over him, shutting his eyes for what he was sure would be a sleep full of nightmares.

He couldn't be more wrong.

* * *

The scene painted its self in Dean's mind. It had that dream like glow to it that all dreams have.

He was surrounded by white. He looked up to see it falling from the sky. Dean held his hand out experimentally, surprised to see it covered by a glove. It was snow.

He remembered this.

As if on que a young version of Sammy ran past him, snow piled up almost to his knees. "Betcha' cant catch me Dean!" Dream Sammy yelled.

He smiled. Dad had taken them on a case in Michigan. It was the farthest north they had been in a long time, and a blizzard had greeted them, effectively snowing them in. Dad had been angry at first, but after seeing the delight on Sam's face at the winter weather, he could not stay mad for long. He had even made them hot chocolate, served in the paper coffee cups motels offer. Sam had been so excited for the brown, sweet liquid that it warmed Deans heart, even to this day.

It was one of his best memories.

Dean heard something flutter behind him. He turned quickly to see an unfamiliar man standing too close behind him. He reached for where he usually held his knife, only to come up empty-handed.

"Do not fear me Dean Winchester. I am Castiel, Angel of The Lord."

"Yeah fucking right, and I'm John Elefante." Dean scoffed.

The 'angel' tilted his head to the side. "I do not understand that reference. But never less, I speak the truth. Why would I lie?"

"Because you're a demon here to slaughter my ass!" Dean looked around, searching for any kind of weapon.

"I would not lie to you Dean. Your struggles have been heard above in heaven. I am here too look after you, and keep you from harms way. You serve a higher purpose Dean Winchester, I am here to make sure you can fulfill that." The angel shifted just the slightest, then massive, black wings unfurled from his back. They extended to half the length of a football field. A gust blew over Dean as they fluttered slightly.

He could feel the power radiating from the angel before him. He was awestruck. Dean had heard tales of angels before, but always assumed they were just that, tales. But now one stood before him.

"What do you mean, 'higher purpose'?" Deans shock and confusion was painted on his face.

"Now is not the time Dean. All will be revealed when the time is right. I am here too look over you from now on. I will be watching you, protecting you. Even in your dreams." And with that the angel was gone.

The snow shifted around him, tiny black feathers started falling from the sky, mixing with the snow.

Dean again held out his hand and caught one of the feathers.

Sammy laughed, looking up and twirling in the snow - feather mix, and Dean smiled. A sense of well being washed over him.

* * *

With a gasp Dean woke up, the events from his dream hazy in his sleep like state.

He felt something tickle his cheek.

Dean glanced over, and beside him on his pillow was a single black feather.

He picked it up carefully, and ran his fingers over it. It seemed to shimmer and hum with life in his hands, and he almost dropped it.

It was soft, probably the softest thing he had ever felt in his entire life. It was long, the size of his forearm.

He turned the feather over, and noticed the color truly for the first time, it was completely stark black, the color of ink.

**-End of Part 1-**

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